Who I Am
by ginoeh
Summary: Vignettes mostly - In the books, Harry's life under Dolores Umbridge's reign at Hogwarts was not exactly something to be jealous of. It could rather be likened to climbing a tree full of angry bowtruckles: very painful and possibly lethal. But this time there are different forces at work. A different twist to an old cliché: self-insert, because who doesn't want to be special...


**Disclaimer: Just playing...**

**A/N: **Incase you are wondering; no, using this character was not my idea originally but I really liked the premise. There have been innumerable self-insert fics and most of them are - sorry to say - incredibly badly done. This is my try at something that is not as teary, dramatic and full of clichés as 90% of those. Let's see if I can pull this off...

This is a kind of prologue - the writing style later on will be more narrative and less 'omniscient' than this chapter but still in first-person. There won't be much breaching of the third wall later either, I think...

Have fun!

* * *

Who I am

_Or_

The second life of…

I think I was always pretty normal. I grew up in a normal family with normal parents that – like most parents – had high hopes for their eldest child. I had a normal brother (that was abnormally annoying most of the time) and went to a normal school. I even had uncles and aunts and cousins and everything in between. We didn't have a whole lot of money but then again we were never poor or wanting in any way either.

Everything was really average and I don't think I was ever truly bothered by it. It was … nice.

The only non-average thing about me was that I was comparatively more intelligent than the rest of my peers. I believe I discovered that when I was around 13 years old. Of course, that led to me scorning the lot of them and them thinking me boring and stuck-up. Teenagers! The dislike was mutual, believe me.

That was most likely when I started wanting to be more than average.

I once read a quote from some important person (I forgot which one of the many) that 'nothing is quite as common as the wish to be something special' – freely rewritten, of course, as I already mentioned that I don't remember who said it.

Let me tell you, I have been absolutely unsuccessful in not wishing to be special ever since my teenage years (and seeing as I'm 27 I had a lot of years to try already!)

When I went to work that one warm September morning I didn't know yet that I was going to be incredibly special very soon.

You know what they say; be careful what you wish for and all that.

Anyway, so there I was sitting at my office desk after lunch, trying to find another way to procrastinate. I should have handed in that progress report a good month prior…

True to 'post-lunch-slump' form I felt terribly drowsy and not at all inclined to work. My coworkers weren't back from their break, the weather was nice, my new swivel chair was indecently comfortable…

I think I nodded of. I'm pretty sure I did.

Because the next thing I remembered was waking up.

I had my head on the table awkwardly and was sure to have a red spot where my forehead was pressed on the desk. My cheek was bedded on some papers. Crossing my eyes I tried to make out he words without actually raising my head.

…internationally… drop rate of… thickness…cauldron bottom -

What?

Not mine I decided. Must have landed on the wrong desk.

Yawning, I pushed myself up and stretched the kinks out of my neck. At least that was what I wanted to do. I actually stopped at the yawn and didn't even get far enough to close my mouth.

That was not my office.

Seriously. _Not. My. Office!_

"Wha- that's…" What I saw just didn't translate. There must have been a thousand thoughts racing around in my head but the only coherent thing my mind managed to cobble together was an eloquent '_Huh?!'_

Words failed.

I ask you to try falling asleep and then waking up somewhere else entirely (while sober, I have to add here). Confusing doesn't quite describe it adequately.

I think I stared rather stupidly at the expensive desk that stood in front of me. It was dark, polished wood. _My_ desk was white plastic. The office walls were nicely paneled with old bookshelves lining the left wall. _My_ office had white painted walls and grey plastic cupboards.

Across where I sat was a door with a… an inset TV?! I shook my head. Whatever. To my right was another door and a fireplace. Honestly, there was a man high fireplace in this room! Like the ones that are usually found in old drafty castles!

Next to it was another door that was half ajar. In its murky darkness I could make out a washbasin and a mirror. A private bathroom then, obviously.

Shoving the panicky part of my consciousness to the side – that part that was screaming its head of incoherently – I decided to look around the room more closely. Maybe there was a clue somewhere that explained what had happened.

I pushed myself up.

Damn, I felt heavy. I let my hands fall at my side; they came into contact with my rump quite a bit earlier than I expected.

Frowning, I looked down.

Pink.

What?!

I was reasonably sure that I had worn a blue blouse just this morning! What kind of sicko would put me in an unfamiliar office and change my clothes?!

It took me another second to recognize an entirely different problem. When I did my mind went curiously blank and even my panicky part shut up.

I was FAT!

My heart was suddenly racing like that one time I took part in tha miles relay. I couldn't hear anything but my own blood rushing in my ears as I patted myself down.

I was fat; my hands were fat and stubby; my cheeks were plump; there was a double chin wobbling(!) underneath my face!

This had to be a nightmare!

Unsteadily, I stumbled towards the bathroom feeling like a waggling pig. I threw the door open and fairly launched myself at the mirror.

I could do nothing but stare in horror at what was just this morning the nice face of a 27 year old athletic woman.

Gone was the brown wavy hair and the brownish eyes; there was nothing left of my light complexion and smooth skin.

Instead the 'visage' that greeted me had no neck to speak of, greyish-brown hair in a gruesomely old-fashioned style and a too broad mouth set between puffy, old cheeks.

I looked like a fat toad. My mind helpfully supplied a name to the face in the mirror and I finally did the sensible thing:

I panicked and screamed my head off incoherently.

* * *

I debated whether I should give you my name; the one I was originally born with. But, I fear there's really no point in that. I haven't lived that life for quite a while now. I'm not sure if I ever will again.

I suppose that leaves the question of _who I am_, seeing as this is my second life, so to speak. Or her's. I'm not too sure on that.

So, let me introduce you with a flourish to _the second life of..._

Dolores Jane Umbridge.

.

.

.

I am pretty special now. Go figure.

* * *

**(TBC)**

...Yes I did think about having 'Horror' added as a genre...^^

**Comment: **This story will probably be told in vignettes if I can manage. There will only be a few truly 'connencting' chapters. Please notice, this is me playing with a new (for me) style (- see A/N); I'd appreciate any helpful comments. I have no real plan of where to go with this, yet, and am open to suggestions and wishes. One exeption: I don't think I can stomach pairing Umbridge with anyone... oO

I would welcome reviews!

cheers, ginoeh


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